A Rose's Thorn

Chapter Two

(A/N- Trigger warning for this chapter. By the way, this whole book, most likely, will be in need of a trigger warning, so just...be warned.)

Tyler knew not to bug me about what happened with Dylan the other day, I don't know how, but he knew. He just knows exactly what to—or not to—say and when. I wish I did.

When I got to school that day, I went straight to my English class, not bothering to stop at my locker to store my lunch. I saw Tyler sitting at the desk next to mine—the one he occupied for the last five minutes yesterday.

He looked up at the exact same time I walked into the room, and had to do a double take just to make sure I was really there. He beckoned me over and I obliged.

"I thought you would've skipped today." Tyler stated.

"And why would I do that?" Tyler gave me a knowing look like he was trying to tell me something telepathically. Then it dawned on me. Dylan. "Oh... no."

"Yeah" he said, treading lightly, "What was that about?"

"Oh, nothing. The guy just won't leave me alone. He must have asked me out like twenty times. It just gets very annoying." I almost groan.

"It seems like it would. D-did you ever accept the offer?"

"No!" I said, even before he finished asking, "Never." He almost looks... relieved.

Before I can ask him about it though, the teacher decides now would be a good time to start class, "Good morning, class. I hope you all did last night's homework."

Panic overrides my system; there was homework?!

~~~~~ 

I walked toward Tyler's sixth period class before the period was over. We weren't doing anything in my class so I thought Tyler and I could walk to lunch together.

The hallways were eerily quiet; only a few people waking in them, with the occasional couple making out in the stairwell. I would've thought the only time the school was quiet was during the summer or after hours, but I guess I forgot to factor in the time when everyone is in class. I seem to be doing that lately—forgetting the little details, the ones that are so important but, so miner that no one ever thinks to include them. I should really work on that.

BANG!

That startling noise almost made me jump into the ceiling vents. Do we even have ceiling vents in this school? What am I even thinking; what made that noise?

I slowly creep around the corner where I think the noise originated from. Once I do, I am met with a familiar face—wait—two familiar faces. The one on the ground, leg bleeding, is the one I met yesterday—Tyler. Then there is the one holding the gun to his head, the one I turned down twenty times—Dylan. I can't help but to think this is my fault.

A few seconds later—what I assume was how long it took them to figure out that the noise was a gunshot—the alarms went wild. Three, screeching sirens—the signal to either stay put, turn the lights off, and lock the doors or, if you're lucky enough to be on the first floor, escape through the rescue windows. They make us learn this and give refreshing drills—which no one thought we needed—every year. I just hope they think this isn't a drill because every year there is always one idiotic person who "tests the system" and runs around the hallways like a five-year-old on a sugar high. Please make that kid be sick today.  

The lights in all the classrooms fade out one by one and the timed bell for next period goes off but no one moves a muscle. I hear voices muffled by the door across from me leading outside—away from the tense atmosphere growing inside after every passing second. Hopefully Dylan doesn't hear them and come to make sure no one is here.